


Improving with Time

by sevenlbs



Series: Improvements [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Belly Kink, Established Relationship, Fatlock, Fluff, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenlbs/pseuds/sevenlbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Improving with Age.</p><p>“I never thought I’d say this sentence,” John said wryly, “but you’re getting too fat for your trousers, Sherlock.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Improving with Time

John was sore everywhere. He’d had more sex in the past month than most people had in a year. Sherlock had been insatiable, both for food and for…. other things. It’s not like John hadn’t been mad for Sherlock before, but somehow his newly thickening waistline hit John in a particularly sensitive spot. It was as if Sherlock was finally letting himself be vulnerable, no longer some sort of unattainable, perfect machine.

Sherlock was still wearing his old trousers, a few of them let out an inch or two, and there wasn’t much to see when he was wearing a shirt and jacket. But one morning John walked into the bedroom to find a freshly-showered Sherlock standing in front of the mirror, stepping out of a pair of trousers and tossing them onto the bed. Two more pairs lay discarded next to them.

Sherlock straightened, wearing only his button-down, his brow furrowed.

“Problem?”

“I thought I had another week in those,” Sherlock grumbled. “At least.”

John watched Sherlock rifle through the wardrobe and raised an eyebrow. From the side, Sherlock’s belly pushed out the front of his shirt by the barest amount.

“You really _are_ putting on weight,” John said in surprise, before he could help it.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow in return and pulled on another pair of trousers. “A bit. Not much.”

“Really?”

Sherlock pulled at the bottom hem of his shirt to straighten it, his stomach still obvious underneath the tailored fabric. He tucked his shirt in and pulled the sides of his trousers together, but they wouldn’t meet.

“Inhale. Try again,” John said, leaning on the edge of the bed.

“I take it you have experience in this area.”

John crossed his arms and gave him a two-fingered salute.

With a forceful tug, Sherlock managed to close the clasp of his trousers. His belly, in his tailored shirt, bulged slightly over the top, and the trousers puckered at the clasp.

“I never thought I’d say this sentence,” John said wryly, “but you’re getting too fat for your trousers, Sherlock.”

“They’ll do for today.”

“Good lord. Can’t you breathe?”

“Breathing’s boring.” Sherlock pulled his jacket from his wardrobe and shrugged it on. He buttoned it closed, but the button pulled on both sides. He turned away from John to look in the mirror. No two ways about it: the suit was definitely too small.

John felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. “God, Sherlock, c’mere.”

Sherlock met John’s eyes in the mirror with a smug grin. He turned and let John envelop him in a hungry kiss, which grew hungrier until Sherlock undid his jacket again to grant John access. John put a hand on Sherlock’s tortured trousers. “I’m afraid if I undo these, we won’t get you back into them.”

“I don’t really want to be in them at the moment,” Sherlock growled, running a hand over John’s straining erection.

John groaned. “This is ridiculous.”

“I find nothing ridiculous about having found a way to inject excitement into our sex life at this stage.”

“So now we’re old and boring,” John panted, still fidgeting with the trousers. “ _And_ fat.”

“Speak for yourself.” Sherlock pressed a kiss to his neck and reached down to aid John’s cause. He gave a frustrated huff when his trousers didn’t immediately give way. Sherlock grabbed for John’s jeans instead and started fumbling with the button.

“A bit snug as well, hmm?” Sherlock said. “Five pounds?”

“Three.”

“Mm, more like five.”

“Says the man who’s stuck in his trousers.”

Sherlock laughed, and John straightened a bit, flushed and breathing hard. “Pretty soon there’ll be no hiding this,” John said, patting Sherlock’s belly. “And I hope you know, I’ll still have sex with you if you decide to stop this little experiment. That’s pretty much a given.”

Sherlock smirked. “Are you worried about my pride, John Watson?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“When have you ever known me to care about what other people think?”

John laughed. “That’s an excellent point.”

“As long as the coat fits, and we’ve got a while on that yet.”

~ ~ ~

Sherlock bought two new suits the next day, and in newly tailored garments, he still looked mostly the same; John, however, could spot every inch of difference. It wasn’t until the following week, when Sherlock unbuttoned his jacket and knelt next to a body as John and Lestrade watched, that Lestrade leaned in and nudged John.

“Sherlock’s looking… good these days,” Lestrade said slowly, pushing his new bifocals up his nose. “Can’t put my finger on it.”

Sherlock straightened and swept his coat back to reach into his pocket for his magnifying glass, and for a half-second, the arc of his small belly appeared in profile under his shirt. Just as quickly, he bent again and his coat obscured it from view.

“John.” Lestrade’s jaw fell slightly open. “Has he – put on weight?”

“He has,” John admitted, trying to ignore the warmth in his stomach at the thought. “He is in his forties, after all. Somehow I thought he’d be immune.”

“It’s a good look on him,” Lestrade said wonderingly. “Thought I’d never see the day.”

“Me either. My bad influence, I suppose.”

Sherlock swept over to them, coat whirling. “Rigor mortis is setting in. As we suspected, this body isn’t connected to the other two killings – what?”

Lestrade was looking Sherlock up and down. He grinned at him. “John’s finally convinced you to eat, eh? Took him long enough.”

Sherlock sighed impatiently. “Contrary to popular belief, I’ve always eaten.”

“Is that so? Well, glad the evidence is finally sticking around.” Lestrade reached out and playfully patted Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock gave Lestrade the withering look he saved for anyone other than John who touched him, but then his mouth twitched in a smile. He put a hand on the curve of his stomach. “I had to start catching up to the two of you sometime.”

Lestrade laughed. “Well put. Now that we know you eat, Sherlock, can I buy you boys supper?”

~ ~ ~ 

Mycroft, as predicted, was insufferable, but Sherlock had anticipated as much.

“My goodness,” he said, when he visited their flat a few days later. Sherlock was lounging in a dressing gown, finishing breakfast. “Shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it? More than a stone, Sherlock, in a _month_?”

“Have at it all you like,” Sherlock said, taking a bite of toast. “Let’s see how long it takes you to deduce the reason.”

Mycroft glanced at John, then pursed his lips. “I see.”

~ ~ ~

The initial thrill of Sherlock’s indulgence did eventually wane, and Sherlock’s metabolism remained lightning-fast, despite Sherlock’s denial of this fact. Between the ebb and flow of cases, and their still-very-active sex life, his weight stabilised, and sometimes plummeted. But John saw to it that Sherlock almost always kept a bit of extra padding, and occasionally more than that.

One memorable month, during which cases were few and far between, Sherlock kept them busy sampling meals and desserts at every restaurant in London that owed him a favour. After three straight weeks of sumptuous food, John wrapped an arm around Sherlock in the kitchen one morning and stopped in his tracks.

“Christ,” John breathed, patting Sherlock’s rounded side. “You’re getting big!”

Sherlock fished the tea bags from their mugs. “Pot calling kettle, hmm?”

“Seriously,” John said. “You’ve got quite a belly now.”

Sherlock’s hand moved absently to the generous curve under his shirt. He raised an eyebrow and looked down. “True,” he said. “More than expected, I’ll admit.” He grasped John’s hand where it lingered on his waist and pulled John closer. Sherlock’s stomach was soft and warm where it met John’s, not quite aligned, but close enough. John looked up and noted that Sherlock’s jawline had softened, the edges of his profile no longer glass-sharp. He stretched up to kiss Sherlock and did so with faint difficulty, noticing with chagrin that his own middle was hindering the motion. This was possibly unacceptable.

“Hmm,” John said, looking down as they broke apart. “This may be starting to get in the way.”

“I was wondering when you would notice,” Sherlock said, running large hands over John’s larger stomach. “Mrs Hudson didn’t bring biscuits with your tea yesterday, come to think of it.”

“Right,” John muttered. “That does it.” He paused. “Hang on. She didn’t bring any with your tea either.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly. “It may be time to cut back a bit.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ll drop the weight in no time. I’ll have to suffer through months of celery and carrot sticks.”

“We’ll get you in fighting shape.”

John sighed. “It’s probably wrong that I’ll miss you like this.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


End file.
